


Jitterbug

by Cori Lannam (corilannam)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry Styles has a Singing Problem, Louis is the most supportive, M/M, a hint of crack perhaps, and Niall blows himself up a lot, and Wham! lyrics, and is an adorable newlywed housewife, and sooooo much fluff, but nice crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corilannam/pseuds/Cori%20Lannam
Summary: Harry has a singing problem, and when you're the top tech on the LAPD bomb squad (and secretly married to your favorite co-worker), your problems can blow up real fast





	Jitterbug

**Author's Note:**

> This story will make very little sense if you haven't watched the delightful skit Harry did with James Corden on the Late Late Show. Even if you have watched it, I can promise you it's been too long, so here, go watch it again -- [Harry Styles and James Corden Have A Singing Problem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1cIoZACSwE)
> 
> This story belongs to my best bestest Chelsea Frew, whose enthusiasm for this silly idea made me want to keep working on it even through one of the worst bouts of writer's block I've ever had (and I've had some doozies).

"Have a good day at work, babycakes." Louis leaned in for his usual peck, just a quick good-bye on his way out the door. Admittedly, it was the third quick peck of the morning, and the first two had not actually been all that quick. Practice made perfect, however, and he was nothing if not a perfectionist.

"You, too, sweetcheeks," Harry mumbled. His lips were warm and soft. Louis pressed against them again. Quick was really a matter of perspective, wasn't it? They had time. A little time.

Harry hummed into his mouth, a sound of his contentment. It made Louis press even closer until Harry leaned back against the kitchen counter and let Louis melt against him. When Harry wrapped his arms around Louis' back, that settled the matter. Quick was overrated, anyway.

He was nuzzling into the soft place behind Harry's jaw when he felt it: three quick taps on his back, following by three slower taps. Harry's thumb, an idle, unconscious movement. Louis waited, and then he felt the taps again, this time accompanied by the rest of Harry's fingers and a soft humming. 

"That's right," he chuckled. "Get them tunes out." 

Harry stilled in his arms before shaking his head. "Nope. Gotta save it. What if there's a bomb today?"

"You gonna sing it to sleep, babe?"

"Singing is music and music helps people relax and not feel stressed. There's been studies."

"Good thing we got you, then."

"And James."

"And James." Louis loved James, Harry's bomb squad partner, but he did not particularly want to discuss him while he was trying to make out with his husband. So he kissed away Harry's next words, until he could feel Harry forgetting whatever he had been going to say next. 

"Are we late yet?" Harry said a few minutes later as he nuzzled against Louis' jawline.

"I dunno. Probably." Louis rubbed their cheeks together and then pressed his open mouth soft over Harry's shoulder.

It shrugged under his lips. "Well, it's Monday, and we're newlyweds. They shouldn't expect that much from us."

"We've been married a year and a half, Harold." With reluctance dragging at his limbs, Louis finally pulled himself away. "And if we want to keep our jobs, we'd best hope nobody at work has any idea about that. Well, aside from James. And Liam. And Niall. And--"

Harry flapped his hand in a lazy 'whatever' gesture. "Don't forget your lunch, babe. And your coffee."

Louis reached past Harry for the bag on the sideboard behind him, stealing one last kiss. There. He could be quick, just see if he couldn't. "Did I get leftovers?"

"Yes, I gave you all of them." Harry crossed his arms over his black shirt with an indulgent smile as Louis whooped and pumped his fist in the air. "I thought your favorite chicken might make Monday a little more bearable. Now get the hell out of here, would you?"

One big hand smacked Louis' arse as he obeyed, which almost put an end to the whole idea of going to work. Through an impressive show of willpower, he straightened the collar of his shirt and made it out the door to the car.

After all, the sooner he got to work, the sooner he could eat his lunch. 

***

Harry bopped along to the snatches of melody in his head as he finished the washing up from breakfast. As reluctant as he always was to let Louis out of his arms, he liked these few minutes alone before he had to leave for work himself. Seeing his spouse off and then doing the washing up made him feel like a proper newlywed housewife.

Because they were still newlyweds, no matter how long ago they'd married, and fuck Lou if he disagreed. In fact, the sheer frequency with which he did fuck (and get fucked by) his husband should be proof enough of their newlywed status, at least according to what he read in Cosmo.

Harry nodded firmly as he dried his hands on the tea towel, satisfied that he had won the argument. He could inform Lou about it later. For now, he had to get to work. It looked bad to be late on a Monday.

As he unplugged his phone from the charger, Harry hesitated. Their Bose dock was right over there. The song was only three minutes and fifty seconds long. He could listen to it just once. Shimmy his hips just a little bit. He could.

Can you, love? he heard Louis' voice say in his head. Are you very sure?

"No, Styles." He shook his head firmly at himself. "You are a professional. Singing can wait until you are at work." 

In the end, Harry sailed through the doors of the precinct with a minute to spare. Louis was already lounging against the corner of Harry's desk, cool as you please, having a chat with Harry's partner. James was another member of their little club of British ex-pats who had migrated to sunny California and inexplicably decided to go into law enforcement. 

"Hazza!" James exclaimed as Harry dropped his satchel onto his desk. "How's the best bomb technician in the department today? Did you have a good weekend? Did you spend every moment with that girl you were telling me about? What was her name? Taylor, Tessa, Townsend?"

"Er." For a second Harry's brain went blank with confusion. Over the course of his actual, blissful weekend with his husband, he had forgotten whatever bullshit story he had concocted for their captain at happy hour on Friday. "Um."

James looked significantly over his shoulder at the open doorway to the captain's office, which meant that Captain Nolan was already at his desk. "What, you don't even remember her name?" James pitched his voice a little louder, leaning back in his chair and twisting his head around until he was almost shouting at the captain's doorway. "Harry, you dog. You absolute legend. Why, an old married man like me can only dream of such glory."

Harry scowled. All he had ever wanted was to be an old married man, but then he had gone and fallen in love with the department's best crisis negotiator. The police department, which had a draconian anti-fraternization policy. If the captain ever found out that they were romantically involved, at least one of them would be a beat cop in Indian Wells before lunchtime. 

The subterfuge was just a game, most of the time. But his husband was right there, ducking his head so Harry couldn't see his face. And he was cradling a styrofoam cup of the shit coffee from the break room, when Harry had made him a perfect thermos of that expensive Brazilian blend he had picked up from the—

Harry took a deep breath and sat himself down in his chair so hard that it squeaked under the force. He would not allow his cheery morning to be ruined. He would not.

In his peripheral vision, Louis' arse shifted around until a small sneakered foot nudged Harry's thigh and a soft voice said, "All right, mate?" 

"Yeah, all right," Harry muttered. Then he reached up and plucked the offensive coffee from Louis' hand and dropped it in the bin. There. Now it was all right.

Louis snorted and slid off his desk just as Glenne came racing into the bullpen, skidding on the tile as she caught herself on a concrete pillar. "James, Harry!" she called. "Some lady just brought in a box of old fireworks and Niall's about to put them in the TCV. You in?"

"Oh, hell yes," James called back. "Has anyone managed to teach him how the door latches?"

"Six times last week." Harry was already out of his chair. He passed Louis, then hesitated. Really, he should apologize for being a grouch, but nothing he wanted to say could be said in this building. 

Instead, he followed James outside to the back lot where their Total Containment Vessel was parked. They joined Liam, Niall's partner, who was standing a very safe distance away with a wrinkle between his eyebrows that made him resemble a worried Labrador. 

Harry clapped him on the back. "Don't look so glum, Liam. He can't possibly blow himself up three times in a fortnight."

"Why would you even say that out loud?" James demanded as Liam put a hand over his face. "Now he's going to blow himself up for sure."

One by one, everyone who was on duty that morning somehow found themselves loitering outside with their coffee cups and their cell phones ready on video mode. After a few minutes, the crowd behind Harry shifted with a few grumbles and one pained yelp. Then Louis appeared at Harry's shoulder, shouldering Liam aside, his own travel mug in his hand.

He took a sip and let out a loud, contented, very pointed sigh. Harry smiled and resisted the urge to do a little shimmy right there. 

The crowd stirred again, and Liam straightened his back. Niall was emerging from the building, encased in his bomb suit and clutching a battered cardboard box between his heavy gloves. 

James began a slow, solemn clap, which was taken up by the rest of the squad as Niall waddled past. "Nialler," James called after him. "We salute you, Nialler."

"Hope you read the manual this time, mate," Louis added. Next to him, Liam had his face buried in his hands.

"You're all arseholes," Niall returned, voice muffled under his helmet. 

"Third time's the charm!" Harry was trying to be genuinely supportive, but Niall set the box down next to the TCV and started struggling to push down the fingers of his glove until only one remained upright.

"I think someone's a little nervous." James nudged his elbow into Harry's side. "You know what calms the nerves, don't you?"

"I do," Harry said slowly. His fingers were already starting to tap the beat against his thigh.

"Quaaludes," Liam muttered from between his fingers. "We must have some in lock-up. Somebody, please."

James looked down and observed the rhythm of Harry's tapping for a few seconds. Harry shot him a sidelong glance, and James grinned. James started tapping his foot in the same rhythm.

Next to them, Louis sighed, but it was too late. The song could not be contained. Just a few more taps, a synchronized click of their fingers, and then—

"JITTERBUG. JITTERBUG."

"Oh, Christ." Somehow, Liam's face managed to disappear even deeper into his own hands, but they could still hear his unappreciative groan. "Somebody stop them. Please."

Harry, James at his side, had already taken a couple steps forward to get more space for their dance moves. Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of Louis delivering a good smack. "Oi, Liam! If you have nothing nice to say, get the fuck out."

Click, click, click. "Hey, Nialler!" James shouted, not breaking his pose.

Niall turned his head and then clomped around in a slow circle to face them, still clutching the cardboard box. Click, click, click. 

Behind his protective faceplate, Niall's eyes widened and his mouth pursed into a circle like he was trying to scream _noooooooooo._ Or, more likely, _woooooooo you guys are the sickest ever!_

But whatever it was, Harry never heard it because it. was. time. They were poised, fingers ready to snap, hips ready to swing. Hearts...ready to sing.

"You put the boom boom into my heart! You send my soul sky high when your lovin' starts!"

Niall flailed. The box sailed out of his gloves and skittered under the TCV. "For God's sake, you cunts! Liam, make them stop!"

"Jitterbug into my brain!" The box hadn't exploded. See? Everyone could just relax and enjoy some singing. 

"Ack. Get off me, Tommo! This has gone too far, and you know it."

Harry swung his arms and his hips a little extra with pure joy. "Goes bang bang bang till my feet do the same!" 

Somehow, despite a lifetime of experience as a songbird in an uncaring, unmusical world, Harry wasn't expecting it when Liam's full weight barreled into him from behind and took him down onto the pavement. Louis landed on top of Liam an instant later; Harry would recognize his knees anywhere, especially when they were jabbing into his face.

"—something ain't right... Hazza? Haz?" James twisted around, looking for Harry, who waved from under Liam's chest. "Oh. Oh, come on now, lads. That just isn't necessary."

"Neither was all of—" Niall waved his arm in the full range of motion the suit would allow him, which was about four inches. "—that!"

"Music has been clinically proven to relax people in stressful situations," James shot back. 

"There's been studies," Harry added cheerfully from the pavement.

"Not where explosives are involved!" Niall shouted, and one by one, their colleagues around them started taking sides, mainly based on their opinion of James and Harry's musical talents.

Louis pulled Liam off Harry, rolling him off to the side before dragging Harry upright by the back of his shirt collar. He brushed Harry off briskly. "Harold, I suggest you grab your partner and make your escape while you can. Specifically, before Niall gets out of that suit."

Harry was no coward, but there were times in life when discretion was, in fact, the better part of valor. "No appreciation for the arts, any of them," he informed Louis before extracting James from an argument and dragging him off to check for any unexpected explosive devices in the evidence locker.

At least he would always have Louis, and Louis would always appreciate his singing.

***

"You've got to do something about the singing." Liam leaned over Louis' desk and tried his best to glare.

"Watch your mouth, Liam," Louis snapped. Privately, he understood that Harry's singing could get...a little distracting in certain circumstances. However, anyone who dared to say anything that might make Harry feel bad, even for an instant, was getting an arseful of Adidas, courtesy of Louis' foot.

Liam sighed. "Look, just because you two are—" He looked to the left and right before leaning a fraction closer and loudly whispering: "M-A-R-R-I—"

"Yes, thank you, Liam," Louis interrupted. "I think the brass around here can spell, contrary to rumor. They're not dogs."

"I think my dog can spell." Liam cocked his head thoughtfully, looking a great deal more like his Great Dane than he would ever admit. "I used to spell 'walkies' and 'treat' to stop him freaking out, but it doesn't work anymore."

"Why am I not surprised that Watson learns faster than you do?" Louis mused. He craned his head to look at the clock on the far wall of the bullpen. "Is eleven too early for lunch, d'you think?"

"Didn’t Harry feed you this morning?"

"Yes, but he also fed me last night and—" Louis opened his desk drawer and took out the cooler bag.

"Oh my God. Is that--?"

"The chicken, yes." Louis had to swallow down a rush of saliva at the site of the innocuous Pyrex container. The chicken was not his favorite thing about being married to Harry (that honor went to Harry's sweet nature, or maybe his dorky laugh, or his smile, or his curls, yes, definitely the curls), but--

"You're going to share, right?" Liam looked at him hopefully; then his face fell. "You're not going to share, are you?"

"Well, I don't know, Liam. Does someone who was just making fun of Harry's beautiful singing deserve to have any of his beautiful chicken? What do you think?"

"I wasn't making fun! He was upsetting Niall, that's all I was—"

"Tomlinson!" Captain Nolan appeared Louis' peripheral vision, making him jump. "There's a situation downtown. Get a vest on and then get a move on. SWAT is already down there, let's not give them time to get bored."

"Yes, sir!" Louis stuffed the cooler bag back into his desk drawer and slammed it shut with a pointed look at Liam to communicate what would happen if Louis came back and his chicken was not there.

Liam held up his hands and backed away slowly. Good boy.

With a last, longing look in the direction of his lunch, and a shorter glance towards Harry's empty desk, Louis headed out to do his job.

***

By two o'clock, Harry and James figured any negative social consequences would have blown over. Niall must have gotten distracted by something, and Louis had surely beat some artistic appreciation into Liam by now. Plus, they were really hungry.

They sidled into the bullpen, Harry peeking around James to survey the situation. No one seemed to be lurking in wait for them; in fact, the few people who were there were all crowded around the old television set in the corner. 

Louis was not among them, and Harry allowed himself a silent sigh of disappointment. He had missed Louis eating his chicken, which always gave him a warm and cozy feeling (and also a little bit of a boner). 

"Coast looks clear," he hissed into James' ear. His partner nodded and they continued their discreet sidle to their desks. 

No one seemed to notice them at all, too absorbed in whatever was happening on the telly. From across the room, all Harry could see were the red and blue lights flashing over the screen. He craned his neck to see better, but before he even fully formed the idea of going closer, James was shaking his head at him. "Play it cool, man. No one's forgotten Dave's funeral. They act like they have, but they haven't."

That was a valid point, frequently made. Harry tamped down his curiosity and started leafing through the paperwork overdue from last week. He had not quite figured out how to write up the call from the woman convinced she had found unexploded ordnance from World War II in her attic, which turned out to be her grandfather's weed stash. 

He typed out a few paragraphs. If he could tell this story in a way that would pass muster on the captain's desk, but also make Louis snort Yorkshire Gold out his nose, then at least the whole thing would not be a complete waste of time. 

"Lou? Could you proofread this?" He looked over at Louis' desk before he remembered it would be empty. "Hey, has anyone seen Louis?"

Around the telly, every head suddenly swiveled in his direction.

"You do know what playing it cool means, don't you?" James muttered.

"Shit, no one told you?" Hardy from Homicide stepped back from the television and gestured at the screen. "There's a bank job gone wrong at Syco Credit Union downtown. The guy stopped answering the phone, but Louis managed to trade himself for a couple hostages so he could get in there and talk to him."

Harry was plastered to the television screen a second later. "No shit? Wow, it's been months since he's done that."

"Yeah, the Captain's not thrilled. So much paperwork, every time."

"But it's always a great read," said James, who meant when he did dramatic readings of Louis' reports during happy hour. He meandered to a stop next to Harry, eyes focused on his phone. "I'm texting him good luck."

Harry straightened up. "Ooh, tell him good luck from me, too. Say you're doing amazing, sweetie. No, don't call him sweetie. Unless you make sure to say it's from me. No, that's ridiculous, why would I call him sweetie, ha ha."

"I'm going to tell him he married a giant dork," James muttered as he typed.

"Oh, he knows."

"Oh, holy shit!" someone screeched. 

A hullabaloo ensued immediately. "What?" Harry said, trying to see over the people suddenly crowding around the telly again. "Wait, what happened? Did Louis do something?"

"Jesus Christ," someone else said, and that was enough for Harry.

He grabbed the shoulders of the two people directly in front of him and heaved them apart. "Sorry," he started to say, but the word stuck halfway out of his throat as the way cleared and he saw Louis' face on the television screen. 

The first thing he noticed was how beautiful Louis looked – like he was meant to be on camera. A light sheen of sweat made his finely sculpted features almost glow in the afternoon sun. It also made Harry realize that it had been entire hours since he had kissed Louis.

The second thing he noticed was the ten kilos of C4 strapped to Louis' chest. 

A blissful moment of incomprehension followed. It was like watching a movie: nothing seemed real. Then everything blurred in a rush of nausea and ice-cold terror. 

When the buzzing in his ears cleared, James was gripping his shoulder and mumbling, "Breathe. Breathe, Harry," into his ear. His lungs fought the command, constricting painfully in his chest.

"All right, people, get moving," the captain barked behind them. "We've got a hell of a situation here. We can't rely on the robot or the TCV here, so I need two techs suited up and fully equipped, and I need them ten minutes ago."

This time, everything in Harry's head sharpened to a razor's edge. He whirled around – but before he could take two steps, he found the captain's hand planted in the middle of his chest.

"Not you, Styles," Captain Nolan said gently. 

"What?" Harry blinked down at him. He was the best tech in the department. And that was Louis out there. His Louis.

"It won't be you. Not for this one. Payne and Horan will go."

His brain, even numb with shock and fear, had already snapped into work focus, running and weighing a hundred variables a second. "Right," he said, feeling like a betrayer for saying it, even though he had no other option. "I'll go tell them."

He took off before the captain could say anything more.

***

"How ya doing there, Tommo?" Lowden shouted from next to the SWAT van.

Louis gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down before calling back to his colleagues who were ringed around the perimeter of the blast zone. "How the bloody fuck do you think I'm doing, you fucking idiot? And get back, for fuck's sake, I could go off any fucking second."

Blast zone. Fucking hell. He had his own personal, very literal blast zone. He wanted to laugh, or maybe sob, but all he could do was grit his teeth and stay very, very still. 

Harry would laugh at that, though. Harry would—

Harry would probably never see him again, except as a headline on the evening news and a nicely framed photograph at the funeral. God, the LAPD had better give him one sick fucking funeral. And they had better let Harry play whatever music his grieving little heart desired and let him break into song as much as he wanted, too.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden flood of tears. He could feel all the news cameras (and paparazzi cameras and cell phone cameras) on him like a physical weight. None of them were going to get a shot of Louis Tomlinson crying. 

"Bomb squad's almost here, Lou," Gomez said over the loudspeaker. 

Louis carefully turned his hand to give a thumbs up. He could hear the sirens now. His stomach swooped with relief and then twisted in terror, over and over. At least it would be over soon, one way or another, he tried to tell himself, but his stomach was not having any of it. 

The rest of their SWAT unit had started forcing back the hordes of onlookers so that the bomb trucks could get through. Finally they pulled in and stopped just inside the cordoned-off area surrounding Louis.

The back of the lead truck opened and two figures tumbled down to the pavement, awkward for being already fully suited up. One turned back to get equipment out of the truck while the other made a beeline for Louis. The helmets obscured their faces. Louis strained his eyes until he could make out the name patch: PAYNE.

Relief and crushing disappointment would have brought him to his knees if he had not already been on them. He had already known Nolan would never send Harry for this. At least Harry was out of danger; at least Harry would not have to blame himself if Louis could not be saved.

Still. He would have liked to see Harry's face, one more time.

He gathered what was left of his courage (which was really stubbornness and spite for the psycho who put him here). "Oi, Payno! Took you long enough," he shouted as best he could without inhaling too deeply. "Bet you stopped for In 'N Out and didn't even bring me any."

Liam kept clomping forward without response. Louis expected him to stop a few yards away and wait for Niall to get there with the doodads they used to poke at explodey things. But he kept coming, until finally he crouched down next to Louis. 

Then he pulled his helmet off.

Then Louis almost choked on all his unshed tears.

"Hi, sweetcheeks," Harry said with a wide, beautiful smile.

"Hello, babycakes," Louis answered, still kind of choking. "Funny meeting you here."

"People will talk." Harry set his helmet aside and took his gloves off.

"What are you doing?" Louis demanded. "Put all that back on, right this second."

Harry gave a shrug, which morphed into a full-body wiggle as he wrestled the top of the bomb suit off his shoulders and down to his waist. "That's at least ten kilos of straight-up C-4 you've got yourself into, love. If that blows, well, even a brick wall wouldn't do much for either of us."

Louis swallowed hard. "Sounds like maybe we should have blocked off a bigger blast zone."

"That's what James is telling them right now," Harry said cheerfully, and sure enough, when Louis looked around, he saw a small army of officers and SWAT members pushing the barricades further back. Much further back. 

That left only Louis and Harry in danger of becoming radically particle-ized. "Can't you do this with robots?" Louis persisted, aware that his voice was rising to a pitch that the department shrink might call hysterical. "I see you do shit with robots all the time. Go get a robot."

"A robot can't do this delicate work." Harry scoffed as he crouch-shuffled in a slow circle around Louis. "Besides, the second I go back there, they'll be hauling me back to the station so Cap can suspend me. Then I can't save you, so."

Louis blinked at him as he shuffled back into Louis' field of vision. "Harry. Why are you wearing Liam's bomb suit?"

Harry bit his lip. He said nothing, but the fleeting, furtive look from under his eyelashes answered well enough for him.

"Oh, God," Louis said. "You're going to get sacked. You're going to get blown up, and then you're going to get sacked."

"Lou—"

"Jesus Christ, Harry, what were you—?"

Harry grabbed Louis' face between his hands and kissed him hard and quick. It had the intended effect: Louis froze, mouth gaping. “Half the department saw that, you bloody fool,” he finally managed to croak.

“More than half. We’re on the telly.” Harry grinned, which as usual, made his normally placid face look rather manic. “So basically, the whole city saw that.”

“Well, since you’re getting sacked anyway.” Louis’ head felt ready to float off his shoulders with the relief that came when he had used up his capacity to feel terror. 

“They can’t sack the best explosives technician in the county after he’s just saved his colleague-slash-husband’s life on live television.” He pulled out a small flashlight and used it to peer closer at Louis’ chest. “We don’t need to mention that this is a total amateur hack job that I could defuse in my sleep.”

Louis went dizzy again, this time with genuine relief. “You could have led with that, you know, sweetheart.”

"To be honest, I wasn't going to tell you at all. I wanted you to be impressed."

"Always impressed with you, my love," Louis murmured, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. He was safe. He was in Harry's hands and he was safe.

"Oh, fuck."

Louis' head snapped back up. "What was that? It sounded like you said 'oh fuck' but I know that couldn't possibly be what you said."

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." 

All Louis could see was the mess of Harry's curls, flattened and frizzled by the suit helmet, as Harry bent down just under Louis' chin, just over Louis' pounding heart. He was torn between staying as quiet as possible to let Harry concentrate and begging Harry to tell him what was happening. In the end, he settled for a single, plaintive, "Baby?"

Harry finally straightened up to look at Louis. His green eyes were wide and scared. "So." His voice tremored on the word, then steadied. "This may actually be one of the more sophisticated devices I've ever seen."

Louis stared back at him, panic rising with every second that went by that Harry didn't laugh and say that he had already defused the device and everything was okay. "You said it was a totally amateur hack job. You said."

"That's clearly what the maker wanted me to think." Harry pointed down at the vest and made a little squiggly motion with his finger. "There's these wires, but then there's another set of wires concealed behind them. Very clever, actually. See, these—"

"You can defuse it, right?" Louis genuinely did not want to hear any more about how clever his would-be murderer had been. "You said—you said you could do it in your sleep."

"Actually, I kind of wish I'd had a little more coffee this—"

"Harold!"

"I can do it!" Harry kissed his forehead, then his cheek. "I promise, Lou. I can do it. It'll just take a few extra minutes, yeah?"

Louis felt his lower lip wobble without his permission. "I didn't get to eat my lunch. You made my chicken, and I didn't even get to eat it. Liam's going to eat it, and I didn't want him to."

"He won't eat it. I won't let him."

"You won't be able to stop him. You'll be dead, too." The thought of Harry dead sped up the unraveling of Louis' nerves that had begun when that fragile sense of safety had been yanked out from under him. A single sob choked its way out from what was left of his self-control.

"I'll make you more chicken. Every night, I swear." Harry cupped Louis' jaw in his steady hand, forcing Louis to look at him. "Babe, I need you to stay calm. As calm as you've ever been in your life."

"I'm not a calm person, Hazza." A soft hiccup jostled his shoulders. The way Harry winced at the movement ruined whatever calming effect he had been attempting. "Under the circumstances, a little much to ask, yeah?"

The way Louis' voice pitched up at the end of the sentence made Harry wince again. He petted Louis' hair with a helpless look.

Then his face lit up. 

"No," Louis said. "No, no, please, don't, Harry."

"Jitterbug," Harry murmured lovingly. "Jitterbug."

"I swear to God, Harold." Louis' voice went thin and reedy with the effort to still his trembling muscles. "I will blow us both up and no one will blame me, no one."

"You put the boom boom into my heart," Harry sang with a grin, clearly unbothered by metaphorical explosions with his actual heart less than a hands' width away from a metric fuck ton of cleverly wired C4. "You send my soul sky high—"

Louis, on the other hand, was bothered a great deal. So that's where his last nerve was, he thought, as he felt it unravel, strain, and finally snap. "Stop!" 

His screech was loud and high-pitched enough that Harry actually stopped and blinked at him in shock. He cleared his throat. "You send my—"

"Nooooo," Louis hissed. "Stop. I can't take it. Not again."

"It's okay, Lou," Harry tried gently. "Singing—"

"No! It does not calm anyone down! When has it ever calmed anyone down?"

"There's been—"

"No, there haven't been any studies, Harold!" The world was spinning around Louis' head. Distantly, he could hear his own heartbeat. "And if there were, they were bad studies!"

Harry reeled back at that, and finally, his face went cold and blank in a way Louis had never seen directed at him. "Well," he said in a clipped tone. "I'm glad to know how you really feel. Thank you for being honest with me."

Something like ice water flooded Louis' chest, clearing his head with the horrific realization of what he had just said. "Fuck. Haz."

"It's all right." Harry dug into his tool belt, ducking his head to hide behind his hair. 

"No, Harry, no, I didn't—"

"Please be quiet. I need to concentrate."

He deserved that. He deserved for Harry to leave him there alone to explode. He was going to explode, and the last thing he had done in this world was break the gentle heart of the most wonderful man in it. 

Harry started poking at the vest with one of his wire mcjiggers, delicately and passive-aggressively silent. 

"Harry, love—"

"Quiet, please."

He tried to obey, trapped in a tangle of remorse and fear. Both clawed at his throat, trying to fight their way out through his voice. He focused on Harry instead, working steadily to save them both. Harry still had his head ducked down, but enough of his face was visible that Louis could see how his jaw clenched. 

Anyone else would think it fear or anger, but Louis knew his Harry, and he knew Harry was fighting the song trying to get out. He hated so many things about this day, but more than anything, he hated that he had caused this. He would rather have just exploded.

"Fuck!" Harry snatched his hands back. His eyes went wild with panic. "He knew I'd go for that wire first. If I'd moved it any further, it would have set off the whole thing."

Oddly, Louis felt himself calming down in response to Harry's panic. "It's okay, babycakes."

"No, it's not." Harry put his hands over his face in uncharacteristic despair. "He's in my head now."

"Nah, love, I know what's in your head." He risked swaying forward, just enough to brush his lips across Harry's fingers. "Go on. Do your thing."

"It won't help. You were right. Why do I even do that? It's dumb."

"Nothing about you could ever be dumb. I'm sorry I was an asshole. I love when you sing, every time."

Harry hesitated, but then leaned into him, lowering his hands an instant before their foreheads touched. "I knew you did," he whispered.

Carefully, so carefully, Louis moved his arm until his fingers grazed Harry's thigh. Then he tapped in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Come on, baby. You know this one. You've had it in your head since you woke up this morning. Probably in your dreams, too, innit." 

Harry shook his head. "Can't."

Louis tapped a little harder. "For fuck's sake, Harold, of all the times to suddenly start having will power."

'Will power' was a more polite term for 'stubbornness;' Louis knew his husband. But he also knew there was only so long Harry could resist the compulsion. His inner songbird always outplayed him.

And finally, he felt an answering twitch. Softly, Harry began to hum the familiar tune.

Louis waited for the beat. Then softly, gently, he murmured, "Jitterbug."

It was the coup de grace. Harry stiffened all over; then all at once, he surged to his feet, wire mcjigger still clutched in his hand. He struck a pose. He clicked his fingers.

From far away, James shouted: "YES, HARRY, YES."

With all his considerable lung strength, Louis opened his mouth and yowled. "JITTERBUG!"

Click, click.

And then it was happening: without doubt the strangest LAPD incident ever captured on camera, doomed to be replayed in an endless loop on every monitor and phone in the precinct at least until Niall blew himself up again. At least Louis would not have to see it, as he would either be dead or writing parking tickets in Indian Wells. 

Harry was dancing, swinging his arms and hips in counterpoint as he turned in tiny pirouettes around Louis' kneeling figure. "You put the boom boom into my heart," he chirped down at Louis with a naughty-sweet grin.

"Too fucking right I do!" Louis contributed as he twisted his neck to try to follow Harry's ecstatic circle.

"You send my soul sky high when your lovin' starts," Harry sang from behind him.

"YEAH YEAH," James shouted, and then: "SORRY. I'LL STOP HELPING."

Harry spun with a great flourish back in front of Louis and dropped to his knees. "Jitterbug into my brain."

Louis beamed at him with pride and accepted the tiny kiss Harry touched to his lips.

"Goes bang bang bang till my feet do the same." Harry trailed off almost to a hum as he brandished his wire mcjigger thing and stared down at the bomb like it had challenged him to a rap battle.

Of course, Harry was a shit rapper. But nonetheless, for the first time in several minutes, Louis felt total confidence in their survival. 

"Something's bugging me," Harry hummed as he studied the wiring. "Something ain't right...."

The song ceased for a long, tense minute. Then Harry stuck his wire mcjigger thing right into Louis' chest and pulled decisively.

Snip, snip. And it was over.

The wire mcjigger thing clattered onto the pavement as Harry's fingers ripped at the straps of the bomb vest. Then Harry was pulling Louis out of the vest and onto his feet, dragging him away as fast as they could get their entangled feet to waddle.

As they stumbled across the cleared square, James huffed past them in full gear, followed by Liam wearing a bomb suit with the name "STYLES" emblazoned on the chest. Behind them, Niall towed his beloved TCV into the blast zone. "You crazy arseholes," he called cheerfully. "You're sacked for sure now."

"No way," Harry panted when they finally stumbled into the side of a squad car. "I'm the bloody hero of Los Angeles now."

"You're my hero," Louis said and proceeded to climb his husband like the heroic tree he was.

***

"We're... not sacked?" Louis narrowed his eyes at the Captain. One of them was clearly crazy in this situation, and for once, he did not know which one of them to hope it was.

"Nope. You're idiots," the Captain said. "But no one's ever gotten canned for being an idiot in the LAPD."

"Wait, you knew?" Harry squawked from the chair beside him. "How could you possibly know?"

"How could I know?" the Captain repeated, staring like he had just determined that the crazy one was obviously Harry. "How could I know?"

"We were so careful," Harry protested. 

At first, Louis thought the Captain was choking. Louis jerked his head to look around the room before remembering that the poster outlining the Heimlich Maneuver was in the break room, not the captain's office. He was about to tell Harry to do something when he realized the Captain was only choking on his own laughter. 

"You were careful?" the Captain sputtered with a wheeze. "You've been listed as his spouse on his health insurance for two years now."

"That's supposed to be privileged information," Harry sputtered in response. "HIPAA! HIPAA!" 

"The premiums were cheaper that way," Louis protested weakly. "But why aren't we sacked? We're fraternizing."

"We're fraternizing a _lot,_ " Harry added. 

"There are many reasons why I want to fire your ass right now, Styles. The state of fraternization isn't one of the things I give a shit about."

Harry pointed a finger at the Captain. "But you can't," he said with a wink. "Because I'm a hero. A hero on the telly."

"Media Relations would shoot my ass," the Captain muttered. "Get out before I decide to risk it."

Harry grinned and turned his pointing finger into finger guns because he knew the Captain loved him, though maybe not as much as Media Relations did right now. He turned his grin on his husband and started to get up – but Louis was already gone. The office door stood open, a flutter of carbon copy incident reports drifting through the air to the ground.

Frowning, Harry went out into the bullpen, but there was still no sign of Louis. No one even looked up at his entrance, his brief stint of notoriety already old news to his coworkers. "You sacked?" James called without looking up from the Arsenal game he was streaming on his phone.

"Nah," Harry said.

"Cool, mate."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to track Louis with his brain. What would have compelled him to rush off and—oh. Of course.

He entered the break room just as Louis was turning away from the microwave, a familiar plastic container cradled in a bed of paper towels against his chest. Harry's own chest swelled with joy and pride as Louis cooed over his leftover chicken. "I would never let Liam eat you, no," Louis murmured as he settled at the chipped and stained table that served as the precinct dining room. "I'd throw him under the SWAT truck first."

Harry beamed at him as Louis dug into his belated and beloved lunch. He dropped into a chair across the table from him. Then he reconsidered and moved around the table to the chair next to Louis. They weren't getting sacked; he could sit where he wanted.

He dropped his head onto Louis' shoulder, closed his eyes, and listened to his husband's contented hums as he finally ate the chicken Harry had made for him. Slowly, the hums developed a rhythm in Harry's mind, which turned into a beat. 

He smiled and opened his eyes as his toes started to tap. It was time for a new song.


End file.
